David Liss - A Spectacle Of Corruption

“Don’t hit me again,” he said, still cringing like a beaten dog. “I’ll tell you what you want to know- as best I can. Jesus, save me! I hardly know anything at all. Look at me, Benjamin. Do I seem like a master of espionage? Do I seem like a man who has the ear of powerful plotters?”

I could not but admit that he did not.

He must have sensed my acknowledgment of his ineptitude, because he took a deep breath and lowered his arms. “I know a few things,” he said with a nod, as though convincing himself to move forward. With one hand he reached up and gingerly touched the slightly red flesh of his face. “I know a bit, it is true, because I may have some sympathies that- well, it is best not spoken of. Not even here. But there is a coffeehouse near the Fleet where men of that way of thinking are like to congregate.”

“Mr. Ufford, I am led to believe that there are coffeehouses on every street where men of that way of thinking are like to congregate. You will have to do better, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “This is not some gin house where bricklayers go to besot themselves with drink and pretend to know something of politics. This place, the Sleeping Bear, is where men of import go. What you want to know- well, someone there will surely be able to tell you.”

“Can you give me a name? Someone with whom I may speak?”

He shook his head. “I have never been there myself. It is not for the likes of me. I have only heard of its centrality to the cause. You will have to make do on your own, Benjamin. And please, for mercy’s sake, leave me alone. I’ve done all I can for you. You must ask no more of me, bother me no more.”

“You have done all you can for me?” I demanded. “Why, you have all but put my head in the noose, involving me as you have with your Jacobitical intrigues.”

“I could never have imagined you would come to such harm!” he shouted. “I could not have known that these men threatened me because of my political interests.”

“Perhaps not,” I said, “but neither did you offer to help me. I think you nothing but a fool- one who dabbles in things too great for him. Such men always expose themselves before the world.”

“Of course, of course,” he muttered.

I could not but doubt that Barber, his man, had gone to get some sort of assistance for his master, so I made my way from that house as quickly as I could.

Night was full upon me as I found my way to the Sleeping Bear, located on the first floor of a handsome little house in the shadow of St. Paul’s. The interior was well lit and lively. Nearly every table was occupied, and some were quite crowded. Here were men of the middle ranks, some perhaps of a better station, who sat with food and drink and lively conversations. I saw no representatives of the softer sex except for a gaunt woman hard on old age who served them.

My plain style of dress fit in as well as I could hope, but I nevertheless found all eyes upon me in an instant, staring at me with near murderous intent. Never one to shrink from a cool welcome, I strode at once to the barman, an unusually tall old fellow, and asked him for a pot of something refreshing.

He glared at me and offered me my drink, though I was certain he had thought I said a pot of something wretched, for the drink he gave me was old and warm and tasted like the leavings of yesterday’s patrons. I turned to the man and, setting aside the unpleasantness of his drink, thought to engage him in some other conversation, but I saw from the hard look in his eyes that he was not of a conversational nature, so I took my pint and found one of the few empty tables.

I sat there, holding my pot but hardly daring, for the sake of my health, to drink from it. Some of the men around me resumed their conversations in hushed whispers, though I sensed that the talk now centered around me. Others merely stared malevolently. I remained in that state for but a quarter of an hour before a fellow came and joined me. He was perhaps ten years older than I, well dressed, with thick white eyebrows and a matching wig- overly long and of the sort already out of fashion in those days.

“Are you waiting for someone then, friend?” he asked me, in the thick accent of an Irishman.

“I came in from the street to take the chill off,” I said.

He flashed a warm grin in my direction and raised the bushy shelf of his brow. “Well, there are a number of places hereabouts where a fellow might do that, but, as I imagine you’ve already noticed, there’s something of a chill in here, if you get my meaning. I recollect that at the Three Welshmen down the street they serve a fine mutton stew and have a mulled wine wondrous for this cold. Certainly you’d be welcome there.”

I looked around. “I believe the owner of the Three Welshmen would thank you for your praise, but this is no private place. The sign outside advertises it as a public coffeehouse. How can it be that I cannot take refreshment here?”

“The men who come here- well, they come here all the time, and there’s none that come here that don’t do so regular.”

“But surely each of these men must have come here for the first time once. Were they all used as I am?”

“Perhaps they came with a friend, one already in the habit of visiting,” he said cheerfully. “Come, now, you’ve surely heard of coffeehouses that are the province of this group or that. No one here wishes you ill, but it’s best that you finish up your drink and find a place more suited to you. That mutton stew must sound pleasing.”

I did not think to accomplish much by simply leaving, nor would it do much good to remain and be ignored. I could only think that this fellow was my one hope of learning something of value. “In truth,” I said to him, “I came here because I heard that this was the place to go if I was of a particular frame of mind. Which is to say, if I was looking for men who thought like I did, in a political way.”

He smiled again, but this time it seemed far more forced. “I can’t imagine how you might have heard such a thing. There are countless taverns the city over for any number of political dispositions. This one- well, we don’t go much for strangers here, if you take my meaning, and we don’t talk politics with them. I don’t know what you are looking for, friend, but you won’t find it in this place. No one is going to talk to you or answer your questions or invite you in on their chat. It may be, as you say, that you are here because you are like-minded. If that’s the case, I wish you happiness, and perhaps our paths will cross again. It may also be that you’re a spy, sir, and you don’t want to be found out as such a one in this place. No, you surely don’t.”

“Tell me,” I said, feeling I now had little to lose, “is there a man called Johnson who comes here? I should very much like to meet with him.”

I had meant to speak quietly, but my voice carried more than I anticipated, and at the next table a fellow half rose until his companion reached out and, with a hand on his shoulder, forced him down again.

“I don’t know any Johnson,” my Irish friend said, as though neither of us had witnessed this man’s alarm. “You’ve come to the wrong place. Now I suggest you take your leave, sir. There’s nothing more to be gained by your bringing confusion to my friends.”

There was surely nothing more to be gained by finishing my drink, so I rose and departed with as much dignity as I could, though I have rarely made a more ignominious exit.

I could hardly have been more frustrated. Surely something should have come of this venture, but I had been rebuffed most coolly and I learned nothing of value. I cursed myself and my foul luck as I walked along Paternoster Row. It was foolishness for me not to have been more vigilant, but my anger overtook my emotions, so I did not see the two men who stepped out to the alley to grab me, each by one arm. I recognized them at once- the Riding Officers who had been standing outside of Elias’s house.